


more salt than peach

by Visardist



Category: Original Work
Genre: Consent Issues, Dubious Consent, F/M, Feral Behavior, Maledom/Femsub, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:54:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26219677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Visardist/pseuds/Visardist
Summary: Lenny's excited about landing a spot on the team studying and rehabilitating the feral man. Then she isn't.
Relationships: Person raised by animals/researcher
Comments: 6
Kudos: 16
Collections: Femsub Semi-Flash 2020





	more salt than peach

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nununununu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nununununu/gifts).



It's not an ideal situation. There's always supposed to be someone in the house with Reed, but 'someone' means someone qualified, really. People with practical experience, not just theoretical knowledge. People with more behind them than a fresh degree and a fledgling research career. But you can't tell that to medical emergencies, can you?

So June and Rahim are on leave, which is why Lenny's here in the first place, and Will's eight hours away at a conference because Jo and Samar said they could show Lenny the ropes without him for a couple of days, and then Samar fainted, so Jo's at the hospital as her medical liaison because they're on the paperwork, and there's just Lenny.

Just a couple of days.

"Just do the basics," Jo says over the phone once there's nothing to do but wait. "Keep him fed, do the phonics, go run around the yard. Watch some of the approved shows, it's marked where we left off. If there's anything out of your wheelhouse that he wants to know about, say that one of us will explain when we're back."

"Got it," Lenny tells them nervously, standing on the back porch watching Reed messing himself up. Samar collapsing was distressing enough without the added unfamiliarity of lights and sirens and strangers, and if it takes him rolling in the dirt to get to something approaching calm, that's what she'll do. 

Jo pauses, then sighs. "I'm gonna videocall when I can see Samar. Just so Reed can see her himself. Could you write that up, when I call? Rahim didn't want to introduce him to facetiming yet, but y'know." 

_Can't be helped_ , Lenny fills in mentally as Jo hangs up. _Shit happens._ Shit always happens.

The wet at her fingers comes so suddenly that she jerks her hand from where it rests on the rail, a light flick of a collision in the movement. Reed is looking up, height at a level with the porch rail, muddy and covered in grass stains, his head back. It must have been his cheek her hand skimmed against in surprise.

His mouth is open— probably licked her. Lenny does her best to dredge up a smile, which he doesn't mirror, but that's okay. No need to worry about that.

"Smar?" he croaks. From this angle, he's much less intimidating, bulk cut down by perspective. A big puppy who doesn't know his own strength.

"Samar isn't coming back yet. Jo'll be there with her, no worries." Lenny's trying to remember everything she's supposed to do, intonation, expression, gestures. Reed is unreadable himself, so she has to compensate. 

He can't come in like that. Better start somewhere.

She puts her phone down on the table, empties her pockets of things she doesn't want wet, and goes down into the yard. The hose is past Reed, so she stops in front of him and holds out her hand, smiling. Samar's drilled her on smiling properly so he doesn't think she's threatening him. "Lotta mud on you, Reed. Let's wash up, 'kay?" 

This is a familiar occurrence with an unfamiliar person, something that the team discussed before and around her arrival and her joining. Lenny's the new tallest person, for once one who can meet Reed at eye level, so she has to show she's pack, not out. The team had been concerned, the unexpected way he looked at her, acted around her. Like she was brand new even when the others had exaggeratedly stuck close to her and treated her on the same level. Hot and cold, wary one moment, clingy the next. Unpredictable.

Familiarity trumps her newness, and he takes her hand, nodding. He won't be happy about the cold water, but since he switches on the hose himself (they must have missed telling her that), he must be fine with it—

—blast of water to the face—

Yeah. Fine with it.

Lenny wipes water out of her eyes, running double-time through her instructions in her head, but she can't help laughing because that sound is certainly Reed laughing. It's the sound of someone unused to laughing but it's unmistakable as anything else. At ease now— makes two of them. It makes for a good few minutes of spraying dirt off him when she grabs the hose back, which also gets her almost as wet, because this is one of those things where she's supposed to show him that people should do.

Clean enough to go inside. This too is usual— a beeline for the bathroom, fill the tub, get out towels. She's the one following him, which makes this easier. Routine. Hold the fort.

So routine, in fact, that once she turns around from the linen closet with an armful of towels and bathrobes, his pants are around his ankles. Her ambiguous squeak makes him glance over his shoulder as he kicks them off, turns as he picks them up to put in the basket, which, well, that's a lot of skin. It's been a while since she's seen this much skin, longer if you discount sneaking into swim meets. Can't he at least have less than attractive skin if she's going to see it semi-regularly?

"Lenny wash?" Reed asks, which is when Lenny remembers all of a sudden why they're both in here. She nods automatically, vigorous, and shuffles past to hang her armful up before draping a towel over her shoulders so at least some dampness is drawn off. He's in the tub when she looks back at him (some comfort at least), his brows drawn together. A usual expression, with her. Gotta work on that, whether changing or understanding it.

"Yeah, I'll wash. But later," she tells him, pulling the stool out of its corner. She reaches for the soap bottle and gets started.

It's done with a minimum of embarrassment, and he's mostly got the hang of soap anyway so all she's really doing is making sure he's done things right. That and scrubbing his hair really hard. He sputters when she rinses him off, but in all it's decent. Normal. She barely even looks at his d- legs. Yeah. Legs. 

Something about his legs.

...oh. Oh no.

She really hopes that Rahim's talked to him about boners already. Best thing she can do, meanwhile, is brazen it out and ignore it. She stands up quickly, pushes the stool out of the way, smiles at him. “Let’s get you dry!” 

Reed’s looking at her strangely again, but it could just be the angle. He does begin rising out of the tub, so she turns round to get him a towel, listening to the soft splashes of him getting out. 

Then suddenly she doesn't know what's happening.

Great wet weight against her, knees hit the floor, she scrambles to make sense of what's—

Reed, Reed bearing down on her, she feels a sting in her lip, bit it when her face hit the tile—

Sharpness at the nape of her neck, has he drawn blood, oh god what's _happening_ —

Then, incongruous, licking the bite he just made. Her breath shudders with the warm coolness of each touch of his tongue, and he growls with satisfaction at the sound, his chest to her back. She wishes it was just one solid blanket of pressure, instead of the specific shape of his weight.

But he's still right now, and maybe- maybe she can reason with him. One last shaky breath, to steady her voice, and she turns her head. "Reed- Reed, that's enough. Get up. This floor is cold." Statement of fact. Objective. She can't see his face well, not at this angle, but she hopes she's saying the right things. Keep things simple, everyone said. Short sentences, basic concepts. His opinion only matters for small things, yes or no, black or white. It's okay to slip up, but for Reed you have to break it down.

No time to break down.

One more lick to her nape, and then he sits back. Lenny breathes like she's just come to the surface after a long dive, dragging in lungful after lungful as she sits up. Filling the doorway, back against one side and feet at an angle to the other, and fuck if that isn't the luckiest thing. Down on the floor it's hard to tell she's just as tall as he is, and that isn't even considering the muscle. He just looks at her, eyes bright, skin flushed from cheek to chest, and she's working very hard to keep her gaze on that and not the erection that was just pressed against her.

"Lenny," he says. Just that. Nothing deliberate about it, just excitement, surprise. Well, they're both surprised.

"Floor's cold," he parrots back at her, rising, and yes, the floor is cold, it's cold against her bare shins and through her damp shirt, but that isn't the concern. She forces herself to get up, meet him at eye level, no leverage for him standing over her. Empty hands, god she wishes she had mace, and god would it fuck everything up if she did. They don't even keep anything sharper than a butter knife in the house.

"Dry off, Reed," she says, putting as much authority as she can into her voice. "Go to your room, put clothes on." She moves out of the doorway, backward with one hand out so she doesn't bump into anything. She can't put her back to him, can't allow him out of her sight like this. Back straight, shoulders squared. Pack, but not below.

He stares at her, not defiant, just uncomprehending. Or parsing, perhaps. But he walks out of the bathroom, dripping, holding a towel but not covering himself at all. Lenny can feel the strain in her shoulders, how rigidly she's holding herself to hold back from doing something that will distress him, will jeopardise everything.

She points down the hallway to his room and repeats herself. Points at the towel in his hand. She barely waits for him to turn his head to his room before she’s walking very, very fast into her own room. It’s a near thing, but she doesn’t slam the door. 

She takes a moment or two to breathe slowly, calm herself down. Plan of action. Change into dry clothes and then figure out how the _hell_ she's going to explain this to everyone. Maybe occupy him with one of the shows. Yeah. That works.

She's just got her jeans off when the door creaks open. In the split second of her pulse skyrocketing, she drops her jeans in a shock of _fuck I didn't lock the_ before Reed has her down. It's cold comfort to be against soft carpet over hard tile, but at least she managed to get her forearms under her this time.

She can hear stitches rip as he pulls at her underwear, too hasty to bother about keeping it in good condition. Should she be able to hear that? Should it be that loud when all she can hear is the pounding of her pulse? Pounding against the heat of Reed's hand too, when he places it on the back of her thigh. Heat like the strange churning under her ribs, heat that makes cool air all the sharper on her skin.

When he puts his cheek against hers, she stifles a sob. Feels him licking a tear away, putting one hand under her chin so he can see her face.

What she sees in his face is curiosity, bright and delighted. She hiccups and his eyes just _shine_. She's a _novelty_ , that's what this is, none of the team must ever have cried in front of him, let alone- let alone all of this. Nothing like crying among those that raised him. Fuck, all the things Will had written about finding analogues between his animal upbringing then and his human life now, and mating the one they'd missed.

When he licks another tear away she tries to twist out of his grip, tries to push, something, anything. Didn't work before. Doesn't work now. He just holds her, patiently, nuzzling her where he can, and when she tires, he thrusts.

It doesn't go in, skids off, drags over her labia and they gasp in unison, she in terror and surprise and relief, he in confusion and frustration and unmistakable pleasure. Instinct takes over, she claps her legs together, maybe this way he'll finish—

But no, he just growls and bites her ear and rocks forward before pulling back. And the thought hits her like lightning: this isn't about pleasure, this is about mating, and he wants it properly done.

His hand again on her hip, running over her ass, exploring. Finding somewhere to get inside her.

Lenny bites her bloodied lip, swallows down a sob. Gropes around to grab him, drag it to her cunt. That noise he makes like a purr as he realises what she's about, slip-sliding and rocking into just the right place. His hold on her tightens, his breath fast on her cheek. Get this over with. Mitigate- fuck, she doesn't even know what to end that sentence with, too shattered, too (at the worst time) aroused.

The (horrible? good?) thing about this is how instinctual everything becomes once he's got it right. How hot he is where skin touches skin, the fullness of him fucking her. When he touches his tongue to the bite on her neck, the shell of her ear, she can feel how the familiar pleasant tension in her gut intensifies. She can't not respond, rocking back against him, too present, aware of every inch of her body.

It doesn’t take long at all, either of them, his breathing heavy in her ear as he groans and comes, and she follows suit with the heat of his cum flooding her. A few more stuttering thrusts make her whimper, but it doesn't last, the both of them exhausted, and they stay until they're breathing in time, steady and slow.

When he finally lets her go, it's reluctant, fingers lingering on her skin, all down her chest to where they were joined. The sharp awareness of cool air below her waist, of warm fluid dripping down the inside of her thigh, makes her shudder as she gets up. He stays on the floor, and she can't help looking down. His eyes are wide and longing, and she can't not think of a puppy again.

She squeezes her eyes shut, takes a breath (it hitches in her throat) and forces herself to smile. "C'mon, Reed. You're all done now, huh? Clothes now."

"All done," Reed echoes, in his croaking voice, and stands shakily up. Lenny moves hastily, backs out of her room, watches him come out and glance in the direction of his room. Then he glances back at her, and her heart squeezes at the doubt in his eyes. 

She stands still as he puts fingers to her cheek. His eyes are on her lips, and she wonders at his attention even as she wishes he’d let her alone, give her time to think. 

“Pain, Lenny?” he says, and that’s— yes, a note of worry in his voice. She almost wants to laugh at the absurdity, or measure his sincerity. 

“N-no, Reed,” she manages. “No pain.”

He nods, dubious, but steps closer. If he wasn’t already touching her she’d bolt, but she stills as he licks the blood from her split lip. His tongue skims close to where her inner lip begins, and abruptly, he pulls away. That look on his face, it's the one where he's about to ask for an explanation, but he doesn't say anything. 

"Clothes now, Reed," she says again, and this time, this time he turns away. She watches him go into his room and shut the door, and only then does she dare get her phone off the porch. Fuck putting clothes on just for that, they're in the middle of nowhere and another pair of flimsy panties won't make her feel any safer. 

When she checks her phone, Jo's texted. _hey lenny they said samars stable but i cant see her just yet youll be ok for a while right_ followed by _no idea how long its gonna take_

There's a million things running through Lenny's head. She leans against the wall for a semblance of stability, head back so she's looking at the ceiling, and can't decide if that's good news or bad news.


End file.
